Stranger's Hand
by Superwholockianincamelot
Summary: In Stranger's Hand, Sherlock and John are investigating a pub that people are rumored to never come out of. In it, John meets someone he didn't know existed.


Chapter 1: The Pub

"Do you really think this is necessary?" John asked as he and Sherlock walked into the ominous pub.

"It'll be fine, John, just follow my lead" Sherlock replied in an attempt to pacify the short blond. Lestrade had just texted Sherlock the location of Stranger's Hand, a surprisingly small pub in downtown London. A few hours earlier, Lestrade had called to inform them that people from all over had been disappearing, their last known location being Stranger's Hand. "A little heavy handed, don't you think John?" Sherlock asked with a sly grin. John rolled his eyes, "Let's just get this over with."

As they entered, the atmosphere changed entirely. Although it still looked like any London pub, the air felt thick and the people were restless. Even the bartender seemed disconcerted. John felt uncomfortable, but Sherlock tromped in and immediately began surveying the scene. Annoyed, John sat at the bar, quickly noticing some of the customers' strange outfits, seemingly from many different time periods. John shrugged it off, assuming there had been a convention or a play, and participants were meeting up here for a pint. John placed his order and turned to see a man in a well-tailored suit with a top hat and a small mustache. He was was strongly built – with a square jaw and a thick neck – and looked a little out of place, sitting on the grimy black stool at the dusty bar. "Do you come here often?" John asked, genuinely curious. "No, first time for me. My comrade and I decided to come take a look around. Curious place, if you ask me," the man said. For some reason, the man seemed familiar to John. John grunted in agreement and took a second to collect his thoughts before deciding on something to say; "Can I ask your name? Mine's John." He reached out his hand, which was firmly grasped by the stranger. "As is mine. John Watson, though most tend to use my last name when addressing me," said the stranger.

John's brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into his mind as he shook Watson's hand. "Are you pulling my leg?" he asked. "Excuse me?" Watson seemed confused. "Is this a joke? Did Sherlock set this up?" John asked, beginning to find humor in his situation. "I assure you, Mr. Holmes did not expect me to meet you. You seem rather confused. What's the matter?" "You're kidding, right? My name is John Watson. You have to know that already, though. Isn't that right, Sherlock?" he called out to the tall man whose coat was sweeping around the pub. "Not now, John!" Sherlock yelled in response as he leaned over to examine the floor. John grumbled to himself, letting a few choice words slip. He turned back to Watson, who appeared puzzled. "What? You're acting like you don't know Sherlock." John said with a goofy grin. "That is not Mr. Holmes" Watson replied, standing now. "What are you talking about? Of course that's Sherlock!" John started to get angry, not understanding why, from his perspective, "Watson" was lying. "All right, guys, I think it's time for me to explain."

The men's focus shifted to the bartender, who was leaning over the bar, listening in on their conversation. "Look. This isn't any old pub. This pub is inter-dimensional. You two are the same person, just from different adaptations. Watson, you are from a book series created in 1892. John, you are from the television adaptation of this book series, produced in 2010. You are the same John Watson, just a little different." There was a moment of silence as the Johns looked at each other and back at the bartender. "You have got to be kidding me," one said. "That's preposterous, you must be bonkers," said the other. "No, really!" the bartender insisted. "Watson, ask John about the Study in Pink." Watson scoffed. "Surely you mean the Study in Scarlet. We had the cab driver apprehended in no time." John sat down, staring at Watson in bewilderment. "This can't be real. What was the cabbie's name?" "Jefferson Hope. Retched man, set upon revenge. I am very glad Mr. Holmes apprehended him." John gulped down the rest of his pint, which he had been nursing while talking to Watson and the bartender. "I think I've heard all I need to. Sherlock, we should go!" he beckoned his friend, who was now pacing around a man in a deerstalker with a pipe and magnifying glass. "Not now, John!" Sherlock yelled back, much more impatient than last time. "He seems to have found Mr. Holmes. Perhaps I should go over there-" "You really mean Holmes? Sherlock Holmes?" Watson gave him a pointed stare "Who else?"

Chapter 2: The Bartender's Secret

"You really shot him?" Watson asked. He and John had been discussing their first case with Sherlock and Holmes. "Sherlock could have died. I saw no other way." Watson took a swig from his second pint. John followed suit. Their discussion on medical and technological advances had them both fairly tired and much more open to discussing Sherlock in greater depth. "Does he know the solar system?" Watson asked. "No! A world of knowledge in that head of his, yet the solar system isn't among them!" They both laughed, enjoying the similarities between their two worlds. Once the laughter died down, John turned to the bartender. "So you knew? That's why you looked so uncomfortable when Sherlock and I entered the bar?" The bartender shrugged. "At first, I was worried. But now I think this is a great learning opportunity for the both of you." Both Johns were confused by this. The bartender sighed. "Just because you are different doesn't make one of you better than the other. Different does not mean unequal, it just means different. There are good qualities in both of you, as well as bad ones. You now get to experience this first-hand." "Is that why you made this pub?" John asked. "You could say that. It was more just an excuse to rip a hole in space and time. Although I won't complain about the positive impact it has had on a couple of my favorite characters." The bartender showed a sly, knowing smile and slipped off to assist another customer.

Sherlock's voice rang out in the silence at the bar. John stood up and sighed, reaching out a hand "I guess this is goodbye. It was nice to meet . . . me." Watson smiled and grasped John's hand. "The pleasure is ours." With this, the Watsons returned to their respective Sherlocks. "John, let's get out of here" Sherlock whispered.

"Mrs. Hudson! We're home. Put the kettle on" Sherlock announced, as he and John walked into 221B Baker Street. "Sherlock, where have you been?" Mrs. Hudson asked, running around the corner to greet them. "What are you talking about? We went to Stranger's Hand. We told you that" John said, confused. "That was a month ago. You had us all worried!" Mrs. Hudson replied. "What do you mean it was a month? We were only there for a couple hours!" John exclaimed. Sherlock pulled John aside. "John, you don't understand. The pub wasn't ordinary, it was-" "Inter-dimensional?" John interrupted. Sherlock was puzzled. "How do you know that?" he asked. "The bartender. He made the pub" John said. Sherlock appeared confused. "There's no way you could have come to that conclusion by merely looking at the bartender. He must have told you" Sherlock said, and began walking up the stairs. "Where are you going?" John inquired. "To bed, John, and you should, too." With that, John went to bed, thinking about Watson and the bartender until he fell asleep.


End file.
